


Space war: City of Light

by StarlessandAngelus



Series: space war [2]
Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:49:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26365978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlessandAngelus/pseuds/StarlessandAngelus
Summary: Part two of the space war series: Having fought during the Devastation of Baal, Mephiston, Mariah, and a cohort of Blood Angels are Drawn by cryptic visions to a war-torn world on the crust of the Great Rift. Here the sorcerers of the thousand sons seek to unite nine silver towers and bring about a ritual that will empower their master, the daemon primarch Magnus.
Series: space war [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1879381





	Space war: City of Light

Chapter One.

Librarium Sagrestia, Arx Angelicum, Baal.

Blood thralls gathered along the Ceremonial way, dwarfed by statue-filled recesses and crumbling sarcophagi. Hidden emitters droned a requiem and serfs emerged from reliquaries and scriptoria, their voices raised in memory of a fallen Lord. Ivory masks gleamed under crimson robes and as the procession moved slowly towards them, the thralls cast handfuls of earth across the flagstones, soil from the Cruor Mountains, ballast for the fallen, binding the dead to Baal.  
Beyond the lines of thralls, battle-brothers of the Blood Angels Second Company had gathered. They were arrayed beneath a towering sepulchre topped by a marble statue of their Primarch, the Angel Sanguinius, his body twisted as he drove a spear into a writhing serpent. The Blood Angels were resplendent in full battle-plate, carrying newly stitched banners and freshly painted honour markings. A precession was approaching them down the Ceremonial Way and as they waited to greet it, candlelight flickered over their crimson armour, catching on the mouth grills of their helmets and lending them a daemonic aspect.  
At the head of the procession was Commander Dante, Regent of the Imperium Nihilus and Chapter Master of the Blood Angels. An ancient among ancients, he tore the darkness like a flame, his armour a blaze of golden ceramite. His mask was a likeness of Sanguinius and as he strode from the shadows there was no sign of the trials that had recently befallen his chapter. Dante looked like a figure from legend, clutching a weapon forged in the ashes of the Horus Heresy – the Axe Mortalis, its blade glimmering with inner fire.  
At his side marched a figure no less imperious but far grimmer. Mephiston, the Chief Librarian of the Blood Angels, wore armour that was sculpted and lacquered to resemble a flayed corpse, painted deep crimson and polished to such a sheen that it looked slick. Like Dante, Mephiston approached the shrine with his chin raised and his eyes fixed on the middle distance, but where the Chapter Master looked noble in his flawless mask, Mephiston’s face was cold and defiant, as though daring the congregation to look his way. His hair trailed behind him, so fair it was almost white and his features were a sharp caricature of the usual Blood Angels countenance. He bore all the hallmarks – imposing, inhumanly perfect features built on a grander scale than those of a mortal man- but his unblinking eyes were dark with secrets. It was as though, in him, the dream of Sanguinius had become a nightmare. He carried his ancient blade Vitarus, and his armour trailed plush, blood-red robes that whipped up dust as they hissed over the flagstones.  
Behind the Chapter Master and his Chief Librarian flew a robed servitor, no bigger than an infant, with narrow, wrought iron limbs and an ivory mask like those worn by the blood thralls. The servitor was borne and frail, mechanical wings and it was carrying a salver – a huge disc of polished brass, covered in intricate runes and diagrams.  
Behind the servitor marched three more Librarians one clad in red and black ceramite and the other two clad in the blue of their order, their heads framed by tall, cable-lined collars that harnesses their psychic power. Archaic markings on their battle-plate marked them as members of Mephiston’s inner circle, the Quorum Empyrric. The first of them was a young blond woman, who had the looks of the Primarch. Her armour was deep crimson and black ceramite with a gold trim and polished to such a sheen that it looked slick. Her shoulder length blond hair flowed behind her with elegance and her eyes were a midnight blue that glittered in the candlelight. Her name was Mariah and she paid no heed to the crowds casting soil beneath her boots, keeping her gaze locked on her master and lover, Mephiston.  
The second of them was clearly ancient, even by the long-lived standards of the Blood Angels. His armour was so crowded with battle honours that he looked almost as gilded as his chapter master. His tightly cropped hair and beard were silver-grey and his eyes were like sapphires, gleaming mementos of long years gazing into the warp. His name was Gaius Rhacelus and he paid no heed to the crowds casting soil beneath his boots, keeping his gaze locked on his master and friend, Mephiston.  
Beside Mariah and Rhacelus marched a younger-looking Librarian, Lucius Antros. Antros’ face would have been a more archetypal version of the Chapter’s angelic beauty were it not for the mass of scar tissue that covered one whole side of it. He had a mop of blond hair that shimmered in the torchlight and like Rhacelus and Mariah his stare was locked on the Chief Librarian.  
Behind theses statuesque warriors marched one final Blood Angel, a battle brother names Albinus. Like the others, his armour was draped in medals and gilded insignia, but he also carried several unique relics that denoted him as a high-ranking Sanguinary priest. There was an intricately engraved chalice fixed to his belt, and attached to his left vambrace was a narthecium: a brutal-looking collection of chainblades and drills that Albinus used to save his fallen brothers when he could, and to harvest their valuable gene-seed when he could not. The assembled blood thralls glanced at Albinus with almost as much awe as Dante and Mephiston. During the recent attacks on Baal, it was Albinus who had been tasked with protecting the Chapters gene-seed off-world. It was a unique honour and there were rumours that Albinus might one day ascend to the role of Sanguinary High Priest and become the Keeper of the Red Grail. Like Dante, Albinus was not a regular visitor to the cloisters of the Librarium. It was a sign of how significant the occasion was that such luminaries had set aside their duties to march at Mephiston’s side.  
The procession halted at the foot of the sepulchre and exchanged salutes with the officers in charge of the honour guard. The clutter of armour roused Mephiston from his reverie and he realised how far his mind had wandered from Baal. He forced himself to focus. His auguries had indicated that this would be a significant event. There would be a surprise of some kind, before the rite was complete.  
He followed Dante beneath a grand arch and into a domed sepulchre, where a body was laid out in state: a Blood Angel, divested of his armour but unmistakably more than human, his exaggerated musculature under a red and gold shroud.  
Albinus approached the body first, confirming that the Blood Angel’s gene-seed had been removed and preserved for the posterity of the Chapter. It was a formality. Codicer Peloris died month ago and the surgery had been preformed moments after death, while the progenoid gland was still warm. Albinus moved the shroud slightly and an acrid, chemical smell filled the vault. He pretended to examine the cold flesh and muttered an oath. Then he replaced the shroud and stepped back, nodding to Dante.  
As Dante approached the body, the singing blared louder through the speakers outside and the blood thralls dropped to their knees, clasping their hands in prayer. Dante took a book from a thrall and flicked through the pages until his hand settled on a suitable passage. He cleared his throat and was about to speak when he paused and turned to Mephiston.  
“Chief Librarian,” he said, his voice echoing strangely through the sepulchre. “You knew Codicer Peloris better than anyone. Will you remember him?”  
Mephiston was staring intently at the shrouded corpse, still lost in thought. He look up in surprise at Dante’s words.”My lord?”  
Dante held out the book. “This will be the last of these ceremonies. And it is now many months since Peloris and the others died. It is time you marked their passing, Mephiston.”  
Mephiston searched the Chapter Master’s face for a sign of duplicity, but he knew that was not Dante’s way. Incredibly, despite everything that had taken place during their recent campaigns, he wanted him to read the prayer. He hesitated a moment longer, then nodded and took the book.  
“We grieve in vain,” he read his voice flat and quiet. As Mephiston spoke, the thralls fell silent, surprised by this turn of events. Peloris’ final days were spent fighting xenos scum and warp-born horrors. But it was not xenos that had killed Peloris. Nor was it daemonic hosts. It was Mephiston. When the moment came, when the chapter had most needed him, the Chief Librarian had failed to harness his powers. On a ship called the Dominance, Mephiston had unleashed a fury that had been building in him for centuries. This corpse was the result.  
The next words would not come. Mephiston could see them on the page, illuminated by blood thralls in his own scriptoria. Could he carry the burden he had chosen? After the events on the Dominance, the tech-priests of Mars given him and Mariah a new chance at redemption – a second rebirth. Everyone believed the process a resounding success. Only Mephiston and Mariah understood what it meant. Only they understood the sacrifice they had made to return. Were they strong enough? Could the really be the shadow on the Chapter’s face? Could they be the darkness in their soul?  
Dante watched him closely.  
Mephiston closed the book and handed it back to him. Concern flickered in Dante’s eyes but before he could speak, Mephiston Placed his hand on Peloris’ shroud and said: “We grieve in vain, for those that die. The Angel’s blade, they fortify.”  
For the next ten minutes Mephiston recited the Song of Passing from memory, with no need of the leather-bound hymnal. There were few books in his Librarius he had not read and his memory was faultless. He held Dante’s gaze as he spoke but he could feel the others watching him, waiting to see is he would falter. With each line his voice grew stronger, more confident, until by the final lines of the prayer it was ringing back down the processional route, quickening the hearts of all who would doubt him.


End file.
